Turning Away
by islandmedievalwriter
Summary: Harry Potter's life after the Dark Lord's fall is well chronicled, but how did the Malfoys adapt to a new wizarding world? Contains spoilers for Deathly Hallows.  APOLOGIES  NO LONGER BEING WRITTEN
1. The Clock Pensieve

**DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OWNED BY JK ROWLING: I SIMPLY BORROW THEM! DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS - I ADVISE READING THE BOOK BEFORE LOOKING AT THIS FANFIC.**

**'Turning Away' is inspired by the question: What happened to the Malfoys in the nineteen years between Deathly Hallows and its epilogue? This is taken from Draco's POV, and as such has a quite different perspective to that of the omniscient JKR…**

So… nineteen years it has been and finally a child of mine, my firstborn no less, is to enter through the illustrious doors of Hogwarts. I cannot deny that those years have changed me. Yet I have been forced to change, with the advent of the new wizarding world, one free of the Dark Lord's malice.

That Potter was my saviour during the battle for Hogwarts is what shocked me most of all. Potter, whose loathing of me was surely only surpassed by his hatred for the Dark Lord himself. Potter, who was able to stand up to the most deadly wizard of our age with a courage I have never possessed. But it does not do for a Malfoy to praise the half blood who lived.

Those few days following the fall of the Dark Lord were some of the most confused I have experienced. Returning to my parent's manor, to a house no longer commandeered by Death Eaters. Restoring it that it might now befit this new world. I cannot deny that this was the first time I had gone against my father's will: yet it seemed that my mother had only ever suffered from those Dark objects, out of a hope we might be given more credence with the Dark Lord, and be protected a little more from his wrath.

It was my mother who took charge following the Dark Lord's fall. My father had too long served him to recover easily from his destruction. Indeed, it was over those days that I discovered my parents' story is as colourful as my own…

-------

It was the second day after our return to the manor that she told me. My father was asleep, exhausted from the shock of the Death Eaters defeat. It was left to my mother and I alone to rescue the house, and so I was here, in the second dining room, disposing of the Dark artefacts that lined its bare stone walls. I held my new wand, no less than the old walnut instrument of my aunt Bellatrix. It seemed to have somehow recognised me as a new master when I retrieved in the aftermath of the conflict at Hogwarts. Almost as if I was its rightful inheritor. Upon the occasions she had noticed the wand, pale tears had crawled from my mother's eyes. She still mourned my Aunt Bellatrix, no doubt for childhood companionship than the fierce loyalty to the Dark Lord. To me, the reason for her grief did not matter. I still swore that I would punish that Weasley traitress.

As my mother shakily lifted another gold instrument with her wand, this one seeming to resemble a large pendulum clock, I stared at the inscription, intrigued enough to read it aloud, "Many kind returns, Bella."

"Open it." my mother whispered.

"Alohomora." I muttered, tapping it gently with the wand that had recognised me its master. It slide gently apart to reveal a small, ornately carved stone cup fill to the brim with dense blue-silvery liquid.

"Do you know what this is?" She asked, trembling, before pointing her wand back at my father's room.

"Yes: it is a pensieve. Dumbledore had one – Snape showed it to me when he assumed the position of Headmaster at Hogwarts. He never allowed me to view it properly, though. Apparently it held the thoughts Dumbledore could not handle." I sneered: Dumbledore was no great wizard: the Dark Lord, even if he did lie dead, had always possessed far more advanced magic.

Mother touched her own wand to her temple and drew from it a long, silvery wisp that flowed into the pensieve. When the stream of silver had finally stopped, I instinctively set the gold case down on our great oak table, and reached my finger into the liquid.

The room swirled as if it were the surface of Hogwarts' Black Lake, and I was pulled down into the silvery liquid… except it was now a dark nothingness through which I fell… Then my feet touched a soft carpeted floor.

I stood a little away from three figures, one who I recognised as a much younger representation of my mother, in demeanour lighter and more vibrant, sitting at the kitchen table of an old house. From the presence of the house-elf Kreacher behind me, I saw that it must be 12 Grimmauld Place: I had never realised that my mother had grown up in the same house as Sirius Black.

She faced a man and a woman: the man ordered, in an imperious tone that would shame my father's , "Kreacher, leave. I will not have you eavesdropping on family business."

The house elf turned on his disgusting heel and hobbled out, muttering, "Kreacher lives to obey Master Black, he treats poor Cissy like dirt…"

The man relaxed into his great oak chair and began, "Now, Narcissa, you know that your mother and I have been considering a suitable marriage for you for sometime now." To me he appeared small, snivelling, despite his forceful tones, "It is, therefore, that we have decided to accept Lucius Malfoy's most generous offer to take you as his wife. Think, Narcissa, what a great day for the House of Black, to be united with the noble Malfoy family!"

My mother, however, seemed to look back in disappointed anger, "Father… you should know that I would wed only one man: Fabian Prewett. I am sure he feels for me: he has been a most caring friend during our time at Hogwarts."

"Prewett… Prewett?" the woman shrieked, "You would desert the chance of marrying the eldest son of one of the noblest wizarding households for the love of some impoverished blood traitor?" Her wand spat angry red sparks into the air from its place on the table.

"Mother…" my own mother defended, nervously twitching at the sparks, "I do not even know Lucius Malfoy."

"Not know him? You were in the same house for seven years!"

"Yes, but why would I wish to involve myself with their cruel plans to impress the Dark Lord? They talked of murder and torture, Malfoy, Snape, Mulciber and Avery did. I know we all seek a pure blood order, but I do not seek to be a killer like Malfoy. Please, mother, just allow me to wed the man of my own choosing."

The woman (my grandmother, I suppose) looked as if she might concede, but the man fumed, "No, Drusilla, we will not let her throw away this alliance in pursuit of obsolete morals and some blood traitor!" Turning to my mother, he continued, "You _will_ marry Lucius Malfoy, in two months time…"

My mother stood, as if to leave, to abandon this house that even I considered cruel. The man, however, pulled his wand from his emerald cloak, a long, crude birch stick, and muttered, "Crucio." A small spider crawling across the table scrunched up in pain.

The gesture was small, but the threat obvious. My mother looked away in pain.

Then I was dragged back through the black nothingness, to the dining room of in our manor, with its heavy oak furniture, and ornate fireplace. I was again sitting at the table upon which the clock-pensieve rested. My mother leant over my shoulder, her white face questioning.


	2. The New Ministry

**DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OWNED BY JK ROWLING. I SIMPLY BORROW THE****M.**

**Thank you to everyone who left reviews. If you have any questions about the story please feel free to message me.**** I will probably start an author notes section under my profile soon.**

"Prewett! As in, the one who joined the Order? Who Dolohov killed?" I smirked, "You liked _him_?"

"Yes. I more than liked him. Is it so hard to believe, after all that has been said about Severus Snape and Lily Evans?" she fumed, spitting the second name as if ridding herself of an unpleasant taste.

"No… but my own mother, wanting to marry one of… _them_! And then permitting the Dark Lord to use this house as his headquarters!" I turned away, infuriated at my mother's contradictions. How could the girl from the pensieve be the same cold woman who had raised me?

Mother sighed, almost wistfully, "I did what was expected of me, Draco. Marrying your father, hosting Death Eaters in this house… they were all expectations. I do not want you to be forced into the same subservience, as your father would no doubt have it." Her voice was gentle: not the snap used on the Death Eaters only weeks ago; nor the cold, indifferent tone reserved for my father.

"Since when has my father held rule over me?" I asked contemptuously.

"If your father does not control you," she prompted, "why did you choose Potter and his friends as enemies?"

"What do you mean?" I spat, "Why should I not oppose Potter, who survived the Dark Lord, who consorts with Mudbloods and traitors, while shunning the true wizarding line? He denigrates all that the Malfoy name stands for!"

"The Malfoy name, yes," she persisted, tapping her wand to close the clock-pensieve, "but why should _you_ hate him?"

"I…"

"Precisely." She tapped her wand again, and the clock-pensieve landed itself above the fireplace. "The Malfoy morals are all that say you hate Potter, now the Dark Lord is dead. They were taught by your father and I, morals that would land you in Azkaban in this new wizarding world, Draco."

"Potter killed the Dark Lord," I snarled, "and with it the ambitions of our family." I stepped back, thinking. Who was to say that the Dark Lord had been truly destroyed at Potter's hands? After all, he had returned after the first war. If he did come back, would he not favour those faithful to his ways? His path would be a harsh one, yet we would not go far in this 'new world', that much was sure…

"Draco," my mother whispered abruptly, shaking: I wondered that she did not know Legilimency, "I have never killed for the Dark Lord, and I glad that you have not either, for he is not returning."

"If he is not to return, what am _I_ to do?" I challenged: for the past two years I had been taught to do only the Dark Lord's work, "They are hardly going to offer to make me the Minister for Magic!"

"You father will not be able to take care of this manor's business for ever, and you are heir to it." she brusquely reminded.

I looked about the ornate dining room we stood in with its grand furniture and bare stone walls, and knew I did not wish to spend the remainder of my days managing _this_…

"What, and follow in your footsteps?" I snorted.

"Fine!" she snapped, offended, "Then do what you wish to. I do not know, take your skills to the Ministry if you really want to escape this house." Her gaze rested on my now red face, "Whatever you choose, you will hardly be afforded the privileges Fudge gave us. It is what you must expect under Shacklebolt and his minions."

-------

So it was that I found myself taking the floo into the Ministry of Magic building less than a month later. As I landed abruptly into the Ministry's entrance hall, I saw that the sombre black that had clothed it under the Dark Lord's brief reign had been stripped. In the place of the statue formed from rotting Muggle skeletons a new gold fountain now stood, depicting a determined group of four: Potter, the blood traitor Weasley, the Mudblood Granger, and a house elf I did not bother to distinguish. Their arms were linked in some gesture of solidarity.

On the rim of the fountain, names were engraved: Nymphadora Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Albus Dumbledore… I sniggered: it was typical that the Ministry celebrated its 'heroes' and yet I could recognise only a single name who had carried the Dark Mark. Severus Snape. A traitor.

"You think it is funny?" a middle aged, grey haired witch appeared at my side, "You consider the deaths of those who fell against He Who Must Not Be Named amusing, Mr Malfoy?"

"I… No, Madam Hopkirk." I stuttered, embarrassing myself with such grovelling, "But Potter, Weasley, Granger… they hardly deserve such celebration."

She frowned, "I would expect that disrespect from a Malfoy: you have only arrived at the Ministry now You Know Who's pocket no longer furthers the family ambitions. I tell you now, Mr Malfoy, that in my department, such narrow mindedness will not be tolerated. Nor will discrimination against those with Muggle Blood, which I have heard you so forcefully endorsed during the Second War. Finally, I suggest you keep your criticisms of Mr Potter and Miss Granger to yourself: you will be in frequent contact with both in your position as Assistant in the Secrecy Statute Enforcement Office."

I sighed: mother had been right. I was to be allocated to the smallest office of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, to a job little better than a traineeship in the new Muggle Relations Bureau.

And it was hardly magical work. Considering the cases of wizards accused of revealing their identities to Muggles, passing on to the courtrooms those we thought worthy of prosecution. There were two others in my office (barely a dingy cupboard off a narrow corridor on Level 2): an elderly witch, Fenelda Masely, and Griselda Marchbanks' squib son James. He was a man of almost forty, learned in wizarding law, and it irritated me that I was to be dependant on these two experienced oddities. Still, I consoled myself that, with six months good charade, I might rise out of this dreary hole.


	3. Miss Bones

**DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OWNED BY JK ROWLING. I SIMPLY BORROW THE****M.**

**Again, t****hank you to everyone who left reviews. Please feel free to message me with questions etc. I have now started an author notes section on my profile; I hope to update this within a day or so of each new chapter coming out.**

It was three days before I had to face one of _them_. I was leaving the cupboard, on my way down to the courtrooms to witness one of the cases I had put forward for trial, when a familiar, unwelcome figure blocked my path.

"Get out of the way, Granger," I demanded, "You think you can do what you want because of your fame, because there's some tacky model of you in the Atrium."

She blushed, and I gave her a mocking smile. She moved aside. I laughed, "That's it, Mudblood, go find the Centaur's office."

"Do not use that name." an austere voice challenged, though I could tell it was a young woman's.

I did not turn round, "Granger deserves it, the filthy know it all Muggle." She had not left, presumably eavesdropping to hear the end of our conversation.

"Hermione was the best witch in our year, regardless of her parentage." the voice retorted. I finally looked around. A long stream of not unattractive red hair greeted me. At first I thought it was the Weasley girl, but then I recognised the face.

"So, Miss Bones is a Muggle apologist." I scoffed.

"I am merely standing up for what is right, and if that is what you count as 'apologising' for muggles then I will not shy away from it, Draco."

That shocked. I had only ever been addressed as 'Draco' by fellow Slytherins, my family… and Dumbledore on the night he had been killed. All others had been too loathing or too fearful.

"You barely spoke back at Hogwarts, and certainly never 'stood up' for anything. But if it is to be so…" I acquiesced in a not unfriendly tone. My attention was completely concentrated upon Susan Bones. Though I had noticed her several times at Hogwarts, indeed spoken to her on occasion, I now picked out the tiniest detail. A plain white blouse against a long brown skirt. Black shoes, practical yet well styled. Her long red hair, bound with a green silk cloth.

"Never mind that," she replied brusquely, "Hermione deserves an apology." she continued, "Mudblood... is not a kind phrase."

"Fine," I shrugged coolly, determining to place no importance on my words, "Sorry, Miss Granger." The Granger girl finally left, and I wondered what could have persuaded me to apologise for words that I had used so frequently before.

"Come then." Susan ordered, "We have a court case to attend."

I had not realised she was in Law Enforcement. We walked towards the lifts and she asked, "You know Arthur Weasley is accused?"

"Yes," I replied, smiling, "_I_ was the one who put his case forward two days ago. Apprehended for performing an Accio charm on a Muggle 'Lapptop'. The Muggles suspected something when their two pound lump of metal crashed through the living room wall. Ironic that Weasley, champion of their cause, gets arrested for breaking the Statute."

She frowned, "This is not just to gain some petty revenge on Molly Weasley after she killed your aunt, is it?" That too surprised me. Few knew of the relation between our family and the Lestranges.

"No," I laughed, though I did not mean to, "but you would not understand."

"Try me," she muttered challengingly, "You forget that I was at the final battle too."

I sighed. Retelling those days with the Death Eaters was not something I did easily, but I began, "The Dark Lord and his followers were nearly a year in our family house. During that year, I lived in constant terror of his vengeance. My mother and father tried to placate him. Not to follow him with utmost loyalty, but to do just enough that they would not invoke his wrath. They did not realise, but I think that the Dark Lord knew exactly their feelings towards him. The only reason that he did not destroy them was that Aunt Bellatrix had such a fanatical devotion, and for the Dark Lord to kill our family would have broken her. If it had not been for her, Father, myself… and mother… would have no doubt been three more of his victims."

"What, like Charity Burbage, Remus Lupin and Albus Dumbledore were? You, your mother, your father… you helped kill all these people, Draco."

The name again. We had reached the lowest level that the lifts pierced, and I walked briskly out, a little affronted. She followed hurriedly to keep up: as she fell into step alongside me, I whispered, "I have never been a killer. Neither has my mother. My father… welll, to become a Death Eater is to serve the Dark Lord until you die."

"Or he does," replied Susan cynically, though I saw her beginning to blush.

"Perhaps," I said, "Yet to submit to him was as painful as to fight him would have been. He punished his own followers even more harshly than he did his enemies."

"And yet so many died in the Final Battle. You just look to defend your choices. I do not forget, it was your father and his friends who killed my aunt, uncle and cousins and…" she stuttered, "Aunt Amelia."

We reached the final flight of steps, and I fell silent: what could I say in response to _that_? As her shoe hit an uneven step, the low heel snagged and she tripped.

Without thinking, I reach my arm out and caught her, encircling her slim waist. As she set her feet with an angry defiance upon the next step, muttering a reluctant, "Thank you", I paused to wonder: why had I stopped her falling? I had never been a gentleman. No, I left that to Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot and dare I say it… Harry Potter.

A thought struck me as we entered through the courtroom's grand oak doors, that maybe I was not _entirely_ bad.


	4. AUTHOR APOLOGIES

Author's note:

I apologise, but I cannot carry on with 'Turning Away'. To do the story justice has preoccupied my thoughts and taken a considerable amount of time. Unfortunately, with the new term starting, I will be unable to pursue it.

Thanks to everyone who's left reviews.


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